


To all our First Times

by twelveisagoodone



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Memory Loss, Romance, and the universe keeps bringing them together, he can't remember her, maybe there is a tiny chance that one day they can be back in the TARDIS again, post Hell Bent, post thors
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-05 13:46:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6706708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twelveisagoodone/pseuds/twelveisagoodone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"<cite>Be a Doctor</cite>", she had asked him. And it is like a renewed promise, this time not only his but theirs, a sacred vow from one to another of staying apart to keep the Universe safe. </p><p>But then, the Universe has always seemed to be too happy in disagreeing with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This should be a one-shot, but then, it has been lying in my computer for too long now, so...  
> It will have another chapter, probably not that long.
> 
> As always, send me your thoughts!
> 
> (*) As a soundtrack for this story, I recommend to listen to "Smell" by Sleeping at Last.

It finishes against my will  
The light goes out, my heart goes still  
And just like that, I believe in ghosts

Time and space are at my back  
Performing disappearing acts  
Now I can escape the smell of smoke  
"Smell" - Sleeping At Last  


#

He is not used to good things lasting in his life. Everything that is good always seems to end far too quickly for someone who has lived as long as he has. There is also this thing that most of the time the Universe seems always to want prices too high for any amount of happiness it gives to him.

So he knows that this, this emptiness and this dull ache in his hearts, can only mean he is once more paying for something that must’ve been genuinely good. And he can’t even remember why or how or who. There is a name though, it's almost everything he has. 

Clara Oswald.

The words curls in his tongue like a sacred promise or a forbidden incantation and it is one of the few things that remains from the past that doesn’t seem to belong to him. It bypasses the neural block. Endures. Like some of the fragmented memories of all the adventures they had lived together, bits that emerge from time to time, fighting their way among the cracks to get free, to keep her alive somewhere inside of him.

Sometimes, there is something else that tries very hard to last, like the faint memories of a dream you can almost grasp in the very moment you wake up but that fade away in the second you open your eyes.

When something goes missing, you can always recreate it by the hole it leaves. And the space of her absence seems to want to consume him. This is how he knows she, Clara, had been someone important in his life.

And then, he is unable to forget that he can’t remember her.

So he sulks, trying to reach for memories that must still be there, inside his brain, because he needs to understand the mystery that is Clara Oswald. He needs to figure out who she was and what she meant, for him.

He doesn’t know how long he has been in that gloomy mood, floating in the time vortex without enough willpower to go anywhere. He buries his nose in books or tinkers around his ship to occupy his mind, but most of the times, he loses himself in thought, trying to understand why he feels like he is grieving for someone he doesn’t know anymore.

The TARDIS tries to cheer him up and takes him to places on her own, ignoring his pleads to be left alone. She always knows where he is needed to save a planet, a village, a child; but most of all, to save him from himself. This is something he finally understands it at the exact moment he sees River walking out of that ridiculously enormous ship making his hearts leap inside his chest.

It is painfully ironic that, after all, he and River end up into Darillium, the one place in all space-time he had always avoided, always dreaded. As much as Trenzalore. And for a moment, he is angry and torn because how does the Universe dare to play with his hearts like this, bringing her back to take her away from him forever, once again? How does it dare to force him into another goodbye so soon?

But from the pain and concealed fury comes the realisation that there is no forever, not even for people like them. There is only time. Always time. And this is the reason that makes him decide to take what the Universe is giving him. If this will be a goodbye, he will make it as good as he can, so, in the end, it will be something them both, he and River, will cherish in the days that will follow. In all the days they will be apart.

Then, for once, he doesn’t run. He stays, with River, and he tries his best to show her his love, tries his best to be the man she needs him to be. When their time together finally comes to an end, he knows that they both, but especially River, have been happy. It comforts him and makes him come back to who he once had been: a madman in a blue box.

#

He travels through space and time but remains alone, unable to find a reason to have permanent company aboard the TARDIS again, his faded memories of Clara Oswald a constant reminder of his past failures. He tries to forget about it, tries to keep going with his life, but he is not that strong, and her absence becomes his constant companion.

He has this notion that Clara must be out there, living her adventures on her own TARDIS, writing new pages in her own story. Sometimes, he wonders if she thinks about him as much as he thinks about her or if she fights over and over against the urge of looking for him, as he does on a daily basis. It is so frustrating, almost to the point of madness, that he can’t just let go of someone he doesn’t know, of a name with no face, no feelings attached to, no life in his heart or mind. It's like he is obsessed with the idea of her and the fragmented memories that don't leave him. He remembers punching a wall for billions of years, keeping himself imprisoned inside his confession dial for a chance to save her; he remembers breaking every single rule he had stood for his entire life to bring her back. And he knows enough about himself to understand what she should’ve meant for him, even if he can’t find those feelings inside of him anymore.

Sometimes, when the urge is too strong and the black hole that lives inside of him seems to want to drag him in, he remembers about something else. Words. Written in a tidy handwriting in one of the chalkboards. Her last request to him. Lately, it is what keeps him going on and stops him from searching for her.

Be a Doctor, she had asked him. And it is like a renewed promise, this time not only his but theirs, a sacred vow from one to another of staying apart to keep the Universe safe.

But then, the Universe has always seemed to be too happy in disagreeing with him.

#

He is running through the dark corridors of a stone labyrinth with a bunch of enraged orange skinned warriors pursuing him, which is certainly not a first. Not the orange skinned warriors, he is pretty sure he has never met them before, but the running and the dark corridors. It’s basically the story of his life.

The narrow corridors make his escape more complicated, the uneven ground causing him to lose his balance with an annoying frequency. His body aches in several different places, but he can’t rest, not if he wants to leave this planet alive. Regeneration isn’t also in his plans for today, so he keeps running, ignoring the limits of his body.

He takes a right turn and, for his surprise, collides with someone with so much force that it makes both of them to fall in opposite directions. He groans in pain when he hits the ground, one of his hands comes to rub his shoulder where he has shocked against a wall. But, ignoring the pain and still high on adrenaline, he quickly gets back to his feet, completely conscious that they are not out of danger yet. The woman who bumped into him is lying flat on her back and a pair of big brown eyes stare at him with a mix of surprise and terror. It’s quite offensive, really, but he has no time to explain to her that staring is not polite in most parts of the Universe.

“Are you hurt?” He asks her as he offers her his hand. His eyes flicker to his back for a fraction while he mentally calculates how long they still have before his persecutors can reach them.

She shakes her head. “You?”

“I’m fine,” he helps her to stand up and tries to ignore the sharp pain in his shoulder as much as the strange look in her eyes. He is rubbish at reading people, so he may probably be wrong, but he thinks she looks at him like she has just seen a ghost. All facts considered, he can only hope he isn’t crossing his timeline or causing another fracture in time, but he has no time to elaborate about it, the sounds of angry shouts and laser guns shots getting closer now.

Without hesitation he grabs her hand and pulls her with him while they run like hell for their lives. He is happy she isn’t willing to become the next ceremonial meal of the orange warriors as much as him.

“What have you done this time?” She shouts from his back a second before they have to duck their heads to dodge the laser shots.

“I may or may not have offended their King! And possibly their main deity too,” he shouts back almost out of breath.

He thinks he hears a laugh. But she can’t be laughing when their lives are in so much danger.

“Oh, ‘course you did!” 

And there it is. Laughter. He should be offended, but somehow the sound of her laughter makes his lips curl up a little. He is surprised with the feeling of how right her hand seems to fit into his, warm and soft and, for once in a lifetime, he thinks that the fast beats of his hearts are not exclusively because he is running like a madman.

He finally finds a place to hide and impulsively pushes her inside what seems to be a cave, but that in the end is nothing more than a crack in the wall. He only realises how narrow it is when he feels her body very close to his though. It is a ridiculous situation and he is grateful no one can see them right now. Him, the oncoming storm, with burning cheeks and arms awkwardly raised up to avoid any unrequested touch. But this tiny woman evidently doesn't seem to care a bit about their closeness, on the contrary, she seems to be really at ease, he concludes when she rests her head on his chest and leans her body against his. 

He struggles to focus onto something else, forces his senses to not be distracted from the danger they are still in, but how can he when her scent surrounds him? HIs treacherous eyes peek down at her and, as if she can feel it, she looks up at him and smiles. And, oh, his knees are made of jelly and he can swear that his left heart has just stopped. 

She is short and has this round face, adorably round actually. Pretty. Usually, he doesn’t notice things like this but she is so close. Too close. He suppresses a sigh. Maybe he is sleep deprived. Yes, it must be this. Lack of sleep sometimes does strange things to him.

As soon as the warriors disappear into the depths of the labyrinth, they leave their shelter and this time she is the one who pulls him by the hand, leading them to the exit. He should ask her to stop because people don’t do this to him. He is the one who usually does the grabbing hand and running thing, though he quite doesn’t like the first anymore. Strangely, with her, it doesn’t feel awkward or wrong.

They keep running, getting deep into the forest, until they think they are far enough to be safe. 

He is breathless and tired, his sweaty shirt clings to his body under all the layers he wears. But strangely, she seems almost unaffected and, disregarding the state of her clothes, her messy hair and the slight blush on her cheeks, no one would say that she had run for so long.

She shows him a smile that he reciprocates, forgetting everything else but the feeling of contentment that runs through his veins. Letting himself fall on the ground, he rests his back against a tree, needing some time to catch his breath while his eyes seem unable to move away from her. She intrigues him, not only because she keeps breathing regularly as if all the running had been nothing, but also because of her eyes; big doe eyes of a peculiar shade of brown, like melted chocolate.

Her perfect eyebrows furrow slightly, her smile faltering a little on her lips when she approaches him. Kneeling by his side, she pulls an immaculate white handkerchief from inside her pocket. He watches her with wary eyes when she lifts one hand and delicately presses the piece of fabric against his right cheek. He feels a sting but doesn’t give it away, the big bad Time Lord he is.

“Here,” her voice is kind but there is a hint of something else in her eyes that he can’t quite understand. “You’ve got a small cut on your face.”

He can’t take his eyes away from hers, and it is funny because he usually isn’t so open like this around people, especially the ones he doesn’t know. But she looks away and places the handkerchief in his hand.

“I must go,” she closes his fingers around the piece of fabric and stands. She gives a couple of steps away from him keeping her eyes cast down on the ground for a moment before she looks at him again. “You take care.”

“Wait,” he doesn’t want her to go. Not yet. “Your handkerchief.”

“Keep it,” she smiles. But it is a sad one that stings at his hearts. Confused, he just nods and mutters a weak ‘thank you’ to her retreating back, his eyes following her until she disappears into the forest while something twitches painfully inside his chest.

#

He is wandering around a street market in the fifth moon of New Mars V, hands inside his trouser pockets, eyes in nowhere special, just thinking about what he is looking for exactly because, honestly, someone must be looking for something to be in a place like this for this long. 

It is basically a dump; too hot, too smelly, excessively noisy and completely crowded with the most exotic beings from this part of the galaxy. And this is telling, considering he has already been in too many strange markets along his life.

A man with five tentacles and head covered in bright blue scales bumps into him and immediately shows him his pair of pointy fangs with an angry hiss. He raises his hands in a silent apology, even if it hasn’t been really his fault. But he is really in no mood to argue with a man with fangs. And tentacles, for all that matters. 

After the blue skinned man goes back to his own affairs, he dusts the sleeve of his velvety coat from a string of sticky golden particles that he refuses to wonder what it must be. So, with a resigned sigh, he decides that it is time to go before real trouble finds him. But then something catches his eye. Someone, actually. 

A short and dark haired woman stands in front of a stall of a Corellian merchant. Her face is partially hidden behind a pair of black shades that remarkably reminded him of his own, though he doubts hers are sonic. She is talking with the merchant like she is negotiating something, which makes total sense since they are in a market. But the man doesn’t seem to be taking it well. Or woman. One can never be sure with Corellians. They are certainly strange beings, usually pacific fellas, though the one who is talking with her looks like everything but. Maybe they are just half Corellian, a hybrid of some sort. He furrows his brows at the stinging sensation that words awakes.

Shaking the feeling, he turns his attention back to the argument unfolding in front of his eyes. He knows that is none of his business, he should just turn around and go back to his TARDIS, but he just can’t. There is something familiar in the way that short human pulls a strand of dark hair behind her ear before she folds her arms in front of her chest. It is like she is challenging the Corellian with a cold glare. Strangely, it reminds him of a teacher he had once. 

He thinks he should tell her that the glasses always ruin the effect of a good glare if he has an opportunity but he is distracted by the threatening look the merchant gives back to her. So probably the glare hadn’t been a good idea, shades on or not. If the aggressiveness with the Corellian pulls the purple gemstone that has been lying on the counter inside his pocket is any indication, she is very close to big trouble. 

To his consternation, the woman doesn’t seem to feel the danger, but the Doctor knows better than to ignore the signs, so he decides to approach them. Maybe he can help. He speaks a very good Corellian as well as eighty-three other dialects of the nearest planets, though he probably more than half of them wouldn’t be very helpful.

But then, everything seems to happen just too fast.

The merchant pulls a gun from inside his robes and the Doctor knows that negotiation is now a forgotten idea. But whatever the merchant had in mind is interrupted by the sound of a loud commotion coming from the middle of the market. Cries and shouts and sounds of things breaking are almost covered by a loud roar that puts all his senses in alert. He knows very well the sound of an angry herd of Green Buffalos of Bri when he hears one and knows better than to challenge the moody six-legged creatures and their big pointy horns. They will take down everyone and everything in their desperate runaway, so they need to get out of there before they reach them.

He grabs the short woman’s hand and pulls her with him while he runs through the market, feeling the chaos exploding in their heels. There is no awkwardness in the way her fingers tightly curl around his and no hesitation when she follows his lead among the sea of terrified running people, the sounds of the angry animals and the destruction they leave in their awakening follows them from close behind. 

He knows that right now he should be thinking more in a plan to take them out of that mess, to keep them alive and unharmed, and less in the feel of her hand in his. So he shakes away the thought and finds a way out of the market and through a straight path that leads them into a surprisingly deserted beach. They keep running until the sounds of the commotion in the market are far behind them.

“What the hell had happened back there?” She asks him pocketing her shades and tying up her short hair as if she hadn’t just run a mile.

“Have no idea,” he breathes out. They are under a tree that he is not completely sure it belongs to this planet and, after he sonics it to be sure it is really just a tree, he let himself fall heavily on the sand. He is breathless, but she is not, which is odd. “Thought you would tell me.”

She blinks at him, mouth half open as if she doesn’t know what to say, which he guesses is not a frequent occurrence. After a moment of hesitancy, she sits next to him. Actually, she sits very close, closer than he would normally think comfortable. But strangely, it doesn’t make him uneasy. 

He notices how beautiful she is, even in her state of complete disarray, cheeks slightly flushed, messy hair and rosy… lips. 

He feels himself blushing and averts his eyes without understanding what has got into him. He has this strange feeling like he knows her. Maybe he does because when he looks back at her there is an undisguised intimacy in the way her eyes sparkle and she watches him watching her. 

“What were those creatures anyway?” she asks, brushing a stubborn strand of dark hair from her forehead. 

“Green Buffaloes of Bri,” he finds a small stick and starts to draw symbols in the sand, needing some distraction from her beautiful eyes. “Very moody creatures, easily irritated. But it made a great steak, you should taste it when you have a chance.” 

She almost smiles, watching carefully what he is scribbling in the sand. But then, she does something with her face, head tilted, eyebrows slightly knit together, eyes squinted just a tad. And he thinks it's just lovely.

“I was just this close of making a deal with that merchant,” she puts her forefinger and thumb very close together to emphasise her point before she gives him a soft punch on his forearm. “And you just ruined everything! Do you know how long it took me to find that stone?”

He rubs his arm as if he has been mortally wounded and she rolls her eyes at him, though he sees a playful glint in them.

“You was just this close of being killed,” he mimics her gesture with his own bony fingers but abstains himself from punching her. It isn’t a very gentlemanly thing to do, even if he knows he is no gentleman at all. So he snorts, pretending he is offended, which he really should be, but how can he be while she keeps looking at him like that? “If not by the Corellian merchant,” he continues, “by all the commotion that exploded at our backs. Have you ever noticed how short you are? You could’ve been easy- Ouch!”

That earns him another punch, making him rub his arm again and scold at her. She is remarkably strong for someone of her height, but that he keeps to himself, grumbling at her with a furrow of his thick eyebrows. “You should be thanking me right now.”

She tilts her head slowly and there is just a hint of a smile on her lips as if she doesn’t want to give herself away. He can see it dancing around her eyes, though. If he already knows her, has he ever told her how beautiful her eyes are? Because, if he was someone who noticed such things, which he isn’t by the way, he could so easily lose himself in them.

“Thank you,” her soft voice brings him back and he watches her stand up and dust the sand off her dark jeans. For some reason he can’t quite grasp, she can’t sustain his gaze anymore and her beautiful eyes abandon him to look at the ocean of purple waves that extends in front of them.

A familiar pain stirs inside him and he catches himself asking her. 

“Do I know you?”

For a second she seems to freeze, but then, she closes her eyes and her teeth come out to graze her lower lip slightly, something she probably does because she thinks he can’t see her properly from where he sits. 

All he can think is that he is missing something really important because, even if the tremble in her hand is very subtle, practically imperceptible, it breaks his hearts nonetheless.

“Do you?” She asks him back in an almost whisper, eyes now lost at some point in the distance before she starts to walk away without any other word. No goodbye, no go to hell, nothing. He wants to stop her, wants to make her stay, but he has no strength, her broken tone saddening him much more than it should for someone he hadn’t even properly met.

He stays on the beach, sulking, trying to find answers for questions he doesn’t know, trying to reconcile the unsteady beats of his hearts with everything that had just happened until the sunset catches up with him and he decides that it is time to go.

His blue box stands at the distance, his safe heaven, but somewhat now the vision of his home makes him sad. And then it hits him, his long fingers instinctively digging into his pocket in search for the white handkerchief he keeps with him since that day. Hers. He is sure she was the same woman he had met in the labyrinth, but for some reason, he didn't recognised her.

He gets into the TARDIS thinking about to go looking for her but the thought itself hurts him. The last person he had searched for had been Clara and somehow it doesn’t seem right, so he quits the idea and bury the feeling. Instead, he searches for the Corellian merchant, hoping to get a good trade for the gemstone the woman wanted so badly. Maybe then, she will find him. At least he hopes so.

#

There is this ball in Earth 5.204, a masquerade of all things, the last kind of party he wants to be in the entire Universe. But he has befriended the King and somewhat everyone in the King’s court seems to think it is a kind of deadly offence not to attend to the bell. And it is funny because, if he doesn’t go, he will be the one dead while he is quite sure the King will be barely offended. Anyway, the argument is strong enough to change his mind.

He has this fantastic idea and decides to go as himself, ignoring the TARDIS’ annoyed beeps while he adjusts the sleeves of his red velvet coat in front of the mirror. Good thing this incarnation has a more reasonable sense of fashion, he smiles appreciatively at his own reflection in the mirror. If he is forced to go to this pointless gathering, at least he won’t wear any ridiculous fancy costume, end of the story.

It turns out the King doesn’t seem to be very keen in agreeing with him today and then the Doctor sees himself walking back to his TARDIS to search for, in the King’s words, a proper and real costume to a Royal Masquerade Ball, whatever that is supposed to mean.

So, if he can’t go like himself, which is a perfect nonsense and a complete injustice with his favourite coat, he decides to dress up as a rock star. Somehow to everybody else he looks like a pirate and he just can’t understand why no one seems to get it right. Maybe it is the eyeliner. He considers for a moment going back to the TARDIS to pick his guitar. Maybe that can be clue enough for all those pudding brains.

But then the King is walking towards him like a predator, a grin that shows too many teeth under a look that he can only think about as too greedy. It reminds him faintly of how Jack Harkness used to look at his arse, back when he had spiky hair and wore sandshoes, and he feels almost indecently naked inside his tight black jeans. Fortunately, the King has plans that don’t include hanging out with him and the Doctor finds himself alone and safe soon enough.

After twenty minutes in the ball, he thinks he will die of sheer boredom. He still doesn’t get why people seem to find so very amusing to twirl around a dance floor overdressed in heavy frocks and uncomfortable shoes, all of them resembling luxurious versions of the seventeenth century Earth French nobility. With much more feathers. And glitter. And obscene amounts of alcohol in their blood streams.

Someone leans against the opposite side of the column he has chosen as company for the last ten minutes and he feels a pair of eyes carefully observing him.

“Where is your eye patch?”

He groans and rolls his eyes, impatiently. This is just getting ridiculous. 

“I’m not a pirate,” he turns his head to look at her, but his furrowed eyebrows stop in the middle of the way. A woman, short, with a dazzling smile and the half top of her face hidden under a dark red mask, watches him with something he thinks to be curiosity. He can’t see her eyes clearly behind the mask, but he guesses they are curious and dark, just like the hair she has arranged in a gracious pile on the top of her head.

She is dressed in an elegant frock of the same shade of red than her mask and which adjusts perfectly to her body. When he finally tears his eyes away from her, the cocked eyebrow that rises from behind her mask makes him blush. Furiously. He silently scolds at himself for that. 

“I’m a rock star,” he finally adds trying to recover a little of his dignity, still unsure of what has gotten into him to do such a thing. Maybe he is drunk. One can never be sure of what there really is inside a fruit punch these days. 

“’Course you are,” she giggles. And the sound makes strange things to his hearts.

She seems to study him for a moment and he wishes she could take off her mask, revealing her face. And her eyes. He wants to see her eyes so badly.

“You should at least wear a mask. It’s masquerade after all,” the hint of a dimple on her cheek puts a smile on his face.

“I don’t need one,” he cocks one eyebrow throwing a too obvious bait at her and waits while she watches him, probably considering if she will humour him and ask the question. For his delight, a moment after she does it. 

“Why?”

His eyes peer through her face, trying to get a grasp on this game they seem to be playing with each other, though he can’t say it makes him uneasy. On the contrary, he likes it a bit too much.

“Masks are for keeping the mystery.”

Her eyes shine from behind the mask and he is thrilled.

“And?”

“I’m already a man of mystery,” he smirks, somewhat grateful for her to be indulging him.

She giggles.

“So this is what you say to all the girls now?”

Her question is a bit unexpected and he doesn’t now quite how to answer it because, honestly, he never speaks with anyone like this. His mouth most of the times doesn't work in consonance with his mind making the words go out all wrong and he has this notion that he often sounds rude and gruff. But there is something about her that puts him at ease and makes him say and do things that are not quite like him. He opens his mouth to explain to her that he is not this kind of man but then, something tugs at the back of his mind when their eyes meet. He feels his throat tightening.

“Take off your mask," he asks her, voice rough and more than a bit shaken.

Her smile falters in her face, as if she has been thrown out of her balance by his request. It's just for half a second, but it's enough for him to notice it. She doesn't say a thing and after a moment of hesitation, just turns around, giving him her back with the clear intention of leaving him. But he prevents her from moving away by gently grabbing her wrist. 

“Please,” he pleads, softly. 

It takes her a moment, but she does as he has asked for, though she keeps her back at him like she too afraid to reveal herself to him just yet. So, he waits, in silent expectation, his long fingers still curled around her wrist until she finally turns around. 

Big brown eyes stare into his, unguarded and unafraid, though he notices the shadow of pain that darken them. 

He remembers her. She is the same woman who had given him the handkerchief he still carries in his pocket; she is the same woman for whom he had acquired a purple gemstone some time ago with the hope she could find him. There is something else, a tingling inside his head as if he is missing something really important, something big. But he quickly dismisses the feeling, searching his pockets for the stone, a smile tugging at his lips when he finally finds it and turns her hand up to place it in her palm. 

Her magnificent brown eyes widen almost impossibly, some indistinct emotion crossing them when she sees the stone and looks up to face him.

“I should’ve known it was you. I came back for the merchant and he told me he had sold the stone to a very eccentric man.” 

He huffs.

“I’m not eccentric! Why people insist in calling me of such things!”

“Says the man who calls himself mysterious.”

“Mysterious is a way much better than eccentric,” he quirks an eyebrow at her and her lips twitch in a small smile. 

“True,” her hand then closes around the stone and she seems to consider her next question carefully. “Why did you get it?”

“To give it to you,” he says, simply. But it must’ve been the wrong answer because her eyes are suddenly glistening with tears. He fights the urge of dry up a stubborn one that rolls down her face. Instead, he offers her a handkerchief. His own, not hers. That one he prefers to keep safe in his pocket even if he can’t understand exactly why. She accepts it, with a sniff, before she dries her eyes.

Then, it finally hits him. Stupid, stupid Doctor… He has felt it, or better, he hasn’t. Just a moment before, when his fingers had curled around her wrist. There is a twinge of pain coming from inside his head that he accepts as just one more proof that he must have found much more than he has been looking for. 

“You’ve never told me your name,” his voice is low and hoarse but gentle nonetheless.

Slowly, her eyes come back to his, those beautiful dark pools, and he feels his hearts racing against each other. Suddenly his chest too is tight for his lungs.

“You’ve never asked me,” she whispers.

“True,” he nods slowly, eyes peering her face. “It’s you, isn’t it? I felt it. No pulse.”

She swallows hard, more tears spilling from her eyes and it is all the answer he needs. His hand covers hers, hesitantly but gently.

“I’m sorry, Clara,” the feeling of her name on his tongue still hurts him even if he isn’t sure exactly why. “I’m so very sorry.”

She shakes her head, drying her tears with the back of her hand, his handkerchief now forgotten.

“You shouldn’t. It’s not your fault.” 

He can’t quite agree with that. He can’t remember many things about her, but he is completely sure about one thing; he had failed her in many ways. He couldn’t prevent her death in Trap Street and his attempt to bring her back had backfired, freezing her between one heartbeat and the next and wiping her from his memories. He is about to protest because he has not only failed her, he has also brought her pain, the pain he can see in her eyes now. But when he opens his mouth to speak, she places her fingers over his lips to prevent him.

“You still can’t remember me, can you?”

Her touch is warm. It tingles his skin and he finds out he can’t let it go, so he just shakes his head, eyes fixed on hers.

“But you can learn, about me, again?”

He nods and she let out a low sigh. 

“So please, learn that what happened to me was my choice. You showed me unimaginable wonders, taught me about the infinite of time and the beauty of the universe. You made someone special of me and I will be forever grateful to you for this. I can’t regret not even one moment I spent with you. But it was always my choice stay with you and I did it willingly and happily,” her voice trembles a bit before she continues. “And what we did, in the end, we did it together, as everything else. Because you and I, we…”

Her voice breaks, her lip trembles and he wishes to be brave enough to take her into his arms and learn how to take away her pain. But he knows he can’t. Not right now. Not while he can’t remember her. Not while he can’t feel her again.

“Please, listen,” she continues then, her voice in a whisper, lips forcing a smile that is the saddest one he has ever seen. “Learn that I’m doing fine, still knocking about in my own TARDIS, running like hell, laughing at everything and, the most important, still avoiding pears.” 

He faintly remembers the words, his farewell to her before the neural block took her away from him. She gives his hand a gentle squeeze and gives a couple of steps away, but he doesn’t let go of her hand.

“Don’t go,” he pleads, his voice barely a whisper.

Stay with me.

The words echo in his mind, bringing with them a sharp pain in his head that he struggles to not show her. 

“I wish I could,” she looks at her shoes for one moment before her eyes come back to his once more. “Goodbye, Doctor. Take care. And thank you.”

She has only given a couple of steps away when he asks her, trying to keep her with him a little longer.

“Why do you need the stone for anyway?”

“To save some lives, what else?” she smiles at him before she turns around and goes away.

She has already vanished among the crowd when he finally lets himself succumb to the sharp pain that threatens to shatter his head. Stumbling into a more secluded place, he finally falls on his knees with his head between his hands in despair, a cry of pain stuck in his throat. It must be the neural block doing its thing. It's like the blasted thing is punishing him for being too close to memories that don’t belong to him anymore.

#

It is always the same with them, he realises after some time, a dream and yet sometimes a painful pattern that keeps them running into each other in different places, different times. He never recognises her immediately, it always takes him some time to figure out who she is and he always forgets most of the things about her after they part ways, his head in pain and his hearts shattered.

But he knows she is real, knows that she exists in the same Universe as he does and, mysteriously, they always find each other. He starts to expect to meet her every time he steps outside his TARDIS and his eyes are always looking for her, even when he doesn’t know exactly what to look for.

#

“Do you have your name on the list, sir?” the security guard asks him once again, a clear threat in his thunderous voice that he can’t ignore.

“Well, you’ll see that I don’t need to be on the list,” he tries to add a certain gravitas to his voice and pulls his psychic paper in front of the man’s face, watching him carefully while he mentally identifies the probable route escapes. Just in case. There is no good reason to challenge a man that has the physical constitution of a Judoon. And, apparently, the same sense of humour too.

“With all respect, sir, it really doesn't matter who you are,” the guard’s face is unmovable, cold dark eyes stare at him while he gives one step forward, towering over him. “I have strict orders to only allow passage to the ones whose names are on the list. I’ll ask you again, sir, is it your name on the list?"

He glances at the psychic paper before he folds it back into his pocket. So this man is not even impressed by a surprise visit from his commander. Blimey. And of course his name is not on the list. He doesn’t even know what is this blasted list the guard keeps talking about, meaning that he needs to come up with a plan. The press of a cold metal gun into his ribs just reinforces the urgency of the matter. And it better be a good one. 

With one hand, he gently pushes the gun aside and forces a smile on his lips, trying to look clever. Once, he found a collection of cards with phrases in the pockets of his velvet coat. Maybe there is a phrase for this situation in there, but he can’t remember where he left them. So, he will have to come up with something new.

“I won’t take that as an offence, soldier. I won’t make any charges against you to our superiors either. And, as proof of my good faith, I am releasing you from your duties for today. You can go now,” he is pretty sure that a salute will come right for the moment but he hates those things, so he just makes a large gesture with his arm, indicating that the guard can walk freely through the corridor.

“You’re not serious,” the guard eyes him suspiciously, pointing his gun once more at him and making the Doctor give a couple of steps away. If this is not a man totally committed to a mission, he doesn’t know who is it. So that calls for a change of plans. He swirls around, making the red lining of his coat flash. 

“I am many things,” he makes a flourish with his hand. “But I am never that. The Doctor laughs in the face of all.”

He tries to sound dramatic and funny at the same time, but it still doesn’t impress the guard. Well, it hadn’t worked on him when Hoddie had said it, though he must admit that it was a little funny. The guard has his gun firmly pointed to his chest now and he is about to try a different approach when, coming from nowhere, a woman place herself in between them. She gives the guard a glare that would certainly be menacing if she weren’t so short.

“Of course his name is on the list,” she says with all the authority of her five feet and two. 

The Doctor stares at her, out of words for once, and she lifts one eyebrow urging him to just go on with her plan.

“Yes! Yes! My name is indeed on the list,” he finally declares, trying to sound as convincing as possible. From the corner of his eye, he watches her and is completely sure he would do so much better if he weren’t so distracted by her eyes. 

“And so is mine,” the woman adds, keeping a menacing tone and a cold glare at the guard. It would be funny if they weren’t under the aiming of a gun, that tiny woman threatening a giant almost two times her size. She is brave, he has to concede her that.

The security guard looks from one to another as if considering whether or not they are telling the true and, miraculously, nods his head and steps away to open the heavy metal door and let them in.

The Doctor blinks because, frankly, it is just ridiculous. But she pulls him by the hand inside and he stands there, in the dimly lit corridor looking open-mouthed to that small human while the door is closed behind them with a loud noise.

“So this is it?” He snorts. “We just have to tell him that our names were on this list?”

She starts to walk and casts him a glance from over her shoulder.

“You should’ve made your homework before coming down here,” she is amused and there is a smile on her tone. “And did you just quoted Robin Hood back there?”

He catches up with her with three long strides and opens his mouth to answer her but she cuts him through. 

“Besides,” she looks at him with a hint of concern in her dark eyes, “What have gotten into you? Entering into an argument with a man that looks like a Judoon with the sense of humour of a Dalek?”

He can barely conceal a smile at her statement though it only increases his curiosity about her. How can she possibly know about all that? Unless… But he doesn’t dare to hope. Not yet. He needs to be careful, needs to be sure first.

He knows she never tells him who she is because they both know his memories can't be forced out. It hurts him, it hurts them both actually. So they just wait until it will finally come to him.

They stop in front of another metal door. There is no doorknob, no indication of how this one can be open. Maybe there is another security guard on the other side and he watches her while she presses her ear against the cold metal to check for any sounds on the other side.

“Care to help me here?” She glances at him, her small hands sliding through the metal surface, trying to find a way of opening it. He pulls his sonic from inside his coat pocket pointing it to the door and she smiles.

“Wow, you are back with the sonic now. What did happen with the glasses?”

He frowns a little and scans the door with the sonic, giving her a quick glance. 

Oh, please let it be her.

“They’re off. I’m working on a couple of new settings,” he changes the setting of the sonic and points it at the door again, swallowing hard. His hearts race. 

“Oh. Well, the sonic is a classic and I liked the new one.”

They hear a low click and look at each other, both of them lifting their eyebrows at the same time. She pushes the door open very carefully, peeking through the opening to look at the other side. 

“It’s clear,” she whispers before she crosses it into another dark corridor and he follows her, his hand instinctively searching for hers, making her stop in her track. Slowly, she looks up to meet his eyes and he smiles at her. 

“Hello, Clara,” his voice is a whisper and he can barely breathe.

“Hello, Doctor,” she says quietly, a smile on her lips and a solitary tear running down her cheek.

#

He decides to start a journal about their encounters and fills the pages of an old sketchbook with notes and drawings, trying to keep safe the new memories they are building, trying to put together the pieces of their stolen past through the little bits she lets escape from time to time in their conversations. Little by little, he starts to learn her all over again and finds other ways to see her. 

And then he begins to hope.

#

He is sitting under a tree at Hyde Park, watching the ducks at the Serpentine and sketching in his old Moleskine when someone sits next to him, a rustle of skirts while she finds a more comfortable position over the blanket he has extended next to him earlier. Her knee brushes lightly against his thigh and the birds chirp happily in the trees behind them while his pencil moves incessantly over the paper. 

He knows that is she. He still doesn’t remember her face, her voice or her laughter; he still can’t commit to his memory most of the things that make Clara his Clara. But, after so long, after so many encounters, he learned other ways to recognise her when he can’t trust his eyes to see her. 

He feels her. 

He senses the slight changes in the air when she walks into a place, the warmth that surrounds him when she is close, the presence of a mind that unaware brushes his with fondness and a dozen of other emotions, the silence of a non-beaten heart that makes his two beat faster and louder. It’s like the neural block can trick his mind, but not his hearts. 

They stay like that for a long moment, sitting side by side, sharing a comforting silence. It’s unusual for them to meet like this, in a quiet and peaceful moment. More common reunions are those that involve one or both of them in some sort of danger, almost impossible quests to solve and lots of running, though peace and quiet have already happened a handful of times by now. And even if he craves for the adventure, he can’t deny he loves their quiet moments, when it’s only the two of them and the rest of the Universe ceases to exist for a while.

He asks himself if there used to be moments like this, back in the time she travelled with him and he still remembered her smiles. He asks himself a lot of things about those times lately, hoping he can understand why he feels the way he feels about her inside his hearts. 

She pokes his foot with her boot and he pushes back a smile. He missed her, more than he would ever admit and wonders how long it has been for her since the last time she has seen him. Maybe she has missed him too. 

“Are you stalking me?” he asks her, never moving his eyes from his sketchbook or stopping drawing. 

She instantly answers the hint of amusement in his tone with a small laugh that brings a now familiar warmth inside him.

“Oh, you would like that, wouldn’t you, Doctor?” 

He fights the urge to look at her, but the corners of his mouth twitch up just a bit.

“Why? Are you?” He insists and prevents a laugh when she huffs in annoyance.

“No! I was just passing by!”

“Here? Today? Of all days?” he is teasing her now. He likes to tease her.

“And why not? It will be Victoria’s wedding in a couple of days and I just want to take a look. Not my fault that we keep bumping into each other all the time these days.” She tilts her head, and he can feel her intent gaze studying him. “And you? Why the blanket? Are you expecting company?”

He watches her from the corner of his eye, erasing a wrong line from the paper and brushing the dust from it before he redoes it in the right way this time. 

Of course, it isn’t her fault, he would never think such a thing. It isn’t anybody’s fault really. There is something very different about them, he realises after so many unplanned encounters. It is a like a force, like gravity, this that keeps pulling one to another, as if they were two separate parts of the same whole.

He may have known it by another word, a feeling, that pulses through his veins at each pump of his hearts. But he doesn’t dare to name it because this is he learning it all over again, but not remembering, not yet. So, yes, this must be something like a force of nature, inevitable and impossible to fight that brings them together against all the odds. Sometimes, he thinks that maybe it is just the Universe making amends for having been cruel. 

“I wasn’t expecting,” he suppresses a sigh. “But I was certainly hoping for.”

He doesn’t dare to look at her afraid of what he can find in her eyes. He wishes so hard he could remember everything and stop to wonder if things were always like this between them, this infinite of deep emotions spoken in loud silences. And sometimes, he wishes he could simply remember her, all of her, because he knows it will be all the answer he needs.

“So, Victoria? A friend of yours?”

She rolls her eyes at him.

“Queen Victoria.”

“Ah,” he adjusts the sketchbook on his lap and looks at her for the first time since she came. And there it is, that fluttering sensation in the pitch of his stomach when their eyes met. Does she feel the same, this spiralling vertigo that threatens to steal the air from her lungs just for looking into his eyes? “Were you invited?”

She giggles and once again he can’t prevent his lips to curl up, treacherous things that have a mind of their own when she is close to him like this.

“To the Royal Wedding? In my dreams!” Then she eyes him suspiciously. “Were you?”

“’Course not, don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffs.

“Why not? You married a Queen of England once, so being invited to another one’s wedding wouldn’t be so unbelievable.”

He doesn’t dignify her with an answer even if he is itching for the banter. He would never admit it, but he loves their bantering. And once more, he wonders if they did it before. 

“I was made a knight by Queen Victoria once.” 

She looks at him with a knowing smirk and lifts her eyebrows to make her point, prompting him to roll his eyes.

“Sir Doctor, huh?”

“Shut up.”

She grins. “Which one of you?”

“Sandshoes.”

“Hmm,” she nods appreciatively and he stares at her for a long moment until her smile falters, unsure.

“What?”

How ridiculous is it to feel jealous from yourself? She would probably laugh her head off if he tells her, and that’s why he doesn’t.

“Nothing,” he mumbles, standing up to shove his pencil and sketchbook inside his coat pocket and straighten his clothes. “Come on, since you’re properly dressed for the occasion, I’ll take you for a stroll in the park. My lady?” He bows his head a little and makes a flourish offering his hand to her, prompting her to giggle.

She accepts his boost to stand up with a smile and her hand easily slides to rest in the crook of his arm. It is an oddly familiar sensation that he can’t exactly place as an old or recent memory.

“Where is your parasol? A lady needs a parasol these days,” he asks, his boots resounding over the gravel path that surrounds the pond while they walk. They are not alone, elegantly dressed couples, families with children are also enjoying this pleasant sunny afternoon.

“I…err… lost it,” she clears her throat prompting him to cock up an eyebrow. And then, she blushes. Adorably. He hasn’t the faintest idea how she can do it since her heart doesn’t pump blood through her veins anymore. Not that he is complaining, the pink of her cheeks is one of his favourite colours, even more if he is the one causing it. But he can’t avoid thinking that this is odd. This and the tears, though he would happily eliminate the last ones if he could. The truth is he doesn’t know that much about time-looped bodies to be sure that this is not just one more thing that her human body can do out of habit, like breathing. She has never stopped breathing after all. 

“Don’t ask,” her voice brings him back and, considering the way her eyes avoid his, he knows she is hiding something she is not very proud of.

“I won’t,” he pushes back a smile and let it be.

She seems to observe a couple that passes them by before her eyes move back to him.

“Shouldn’t you be wearing a top hat?”

He snorts.

“Ties and hats are definitely not me,” he points a bony finger to his own chest. “Not this me, anyway.”

She lifts one eyebrow and he follows her gaze to find the piece of fabric he has around his neck. 

“This? Oh, please, this is not a tie!” He says with feigned impatience. “It’s a cravat,” he rolls the "r" purposefully and she shakes her head, amused.

“Well, whatever it is, it makes you look dapper.”

He can’t avoid his chest of puffing out at her unexpected compliment and his cheeks are the ones that blush now. Especially because she tightens her grip on his arm, her body coming a little bit closer, probably more than it is acceptable for this period of time, but he can’t care less about it. The warmth of her presence next to him makes him realise how much he always craves for her closeness. 

“We could just break in,” she says after a moment.

He frowns at her, momentarily lost.

“Break into what?”

“The Royal wedding. We could go,” she motions her hand in the air slightly before she snaps her fingers with a big smile, “you know, in deep cover, or whatever you call it these days.”

He stops to look at her as if she has just become insane, but the smile on her lips keeps distracting him. If she keeps doing that for a little longer he will do anything she asks. He shakes the feeling out and tries to be the wiser one, his more than two thousand years have to be good for something.

“And spend the night in prison? No, thank you,” he starts to walk again and she keeps accompanying him, hand still on his arm. 

“Come on! You do things like this all the time.”

“No, I don’t,” he tries to keep a straight face at his own lie but she obviously knows him too damn well, big brown eyes staring into his with undisguised mischief. “No!” he insists when she lifts an incredulous eyebrow. “Only if you tell me you’re sure Prince Albert has been replaced by a Zygon doppelganger.”

“Prince Albert has been replaced by a Zygon doppelganger.”

And then she does a thing with her eyes, those magnificent eyes of hers that shine like they are made of entire constellations, a challenge in them while they stare into his. And he has to gather all of his willpower to not kiss her right now. Has he ever kissed her? 

“Ha-ha, quite charming,” his eyes soften a little, his hearts melting inside him, knowing that she is just this close from convincing him. When did she get him wrapped around her finger like this? “But no.”

“Oh, you used to be so much more fun!”

She stops in her tracks at her own words, eyes widen in regret of what has just escaped her lips. 

“I’m sorry, I really… I just…” she seems to be more hurt than him. “I didn’t mean to-”

He gives a soft squeeze on her hand, his voice tender when he speaks. “I know you didn’t,” he brings her hand to his lips to kiss it gently, eyes never leaving hers while his lips linger on her skin for longer than it should. It stirs something else inside of him like he had done this before, but it is a faint memory surrounded by so much pain and angst that he needs to push it back quickly. So, he reluctantly let it go of her hand, breaking eye contact and clearing his throat. 

“But,” he licks his dry lips, “I know another Queen who has actually invited me to her wedding,” his eyes search for hers once more, unable to stay away for longer. He already suspected that he was a fool for her, but he is completely sure when he feels his hearts racing at the first sign of a dimple on her cheek. “So, what do you say, Miss Oswald? Fancy a little trip in my TARDIS?”

He is aware of the silly grin on his face while his eyes peer into hers carefully, trying not to give away the turmoil of emotions running inside of him. And not for the first time, he wishes to be able to read her better, because he has no clue about why she has a smile on her lips and the glint of tears in her eyes. 

“It would be lovely,” she sighs, her hand coming to take his. “But we can’t, not after all we’ve been through. It’s too risky.”

He understands what she is afraid of, that once they set foot inside his ship together again, they will start to run and won’t be able to stop. There is a big chance she can be right. But he also understands that there is no point in fighting the inevitable, her hand in his right now, after all, is the biggest proof that there is no Universe, no timeline, no life in which they won’t be permanently gravitating around each other. 

“Do you ever wonder why we keep running into each other?” He asks her, his eyes fixed in their united hands. “Why do we keep meeting even when none of us is trying to track the other, even when I keep forgetting most of the things about you after we do part?” He slowly entwines their fingers, feeling her small hand trembling inside his larger one. His hearts beat out of his chest. Maybe he is just going mad. 

She remains silent for a long moment. He can barely breathe until her voice sounds, uncertain, choked by tears that don’t fall. 

“How do you do it?” Her eyes, as his, are also in their hands, also drawn by the miracle concealed in them. “How do you know who I am if you still can’t remember me?”

Her questions are different from his and, yet, have the same answer. Something that could be explained by a single word in English but that somehow he feels it isn’t able to convey everything he feels, everything he knows that they are. Perhaps, such a word still has to be invented, even in the infinitude of languages that he knows. 

“Well, this face is not exactly that easy to put up with,” he tries a smile, his eyes gently peering through her face. “So who else could you be?”

“True,” she almost smiles. 

They look at each other for a long moment. She bites her lower lip, eyes watering and a nervous smile curls her mouth. 

“Please, just don’t tell me this is Missy’s doing.” 

“No,” a small laugh escapes his lips. “She certainly would like to take the credits for it, but no.” He lifts his hand to touch her face, but has no courage, so he places it over their joined hands. “I don’t know what it is,” he decides not tell her his theory because it can be too much for her to take. “But, you know-”

“The Universe hasn’t exploded.”

“No, it hasn’t,” he says quietly.

“Nor the time has fractured.”

He nods almost imperceptibly, eyes locked on hers trying to tell her everything he has no voice to right now.

“So, maybe…” She can’t go on as if afraid that putting the idea into words might break the spell. 

“Yeah,” his thumb strokes her hand lightly, eyes shining with hope. “Maybe.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They meet in a distant planet so they can attend the Queen's wedding together. But something goes terribly wrong and maybe, this time, the Universe won't have their backs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it took me ages to update this one, but here it is. Hope you'll enjoy it. And don't worry, there is one more chapter to finish it properly.
> 
> Many thanks to my beta misswinterseat, she is the best!

Go ahead and laugh  
Even if it hurts  
Go ahead and pull the pin  
What if we could risk  
Everything we have  
And just let our walls cave in  
"Heart" - Sleeping at Last  


Her TARDIS lands with a soft thud and the low hum of the rotors turning off places a smile on her face. Somewhere outside there must be an old blue police box parked with a very intrigued Time Lord inside, trying to figure out who he will find when the doors of his ship open up. 

From across the console, Clara catches Ashildr's look of disapproval and wishes she could just ignore it. But their long-term friendship is too precious to her, so there is no way she'll just step outside leaving behind her immortal friend so cross with her.

"Everything will be just fine," Clara pulls down a lever to set the brakes on, "you don't have to worry." 

The other woman's gaze follows her every move in silence while Clara crosses the room to collect her jacket from the jump seat. 

"Besides," Clara adds, "you had never complained about me meeting him before." 

"Well," Ashildr sighs, "as far as I know, you both have never planned an encounter before." She crosses her arms in front of her chest, eyebrows furrowed. "I can accept the pull that keeps bringing you two together and-" 

"Pull?" Clara interrupts her raising one eyebrow that makes the other girl roll her eyes. 

"Oh, call it destiny or fate or just the Universe plotting to put you two back together! But this, Clara," she purses her lips before she continues, "this is completely different. It's you both arranging to meet. Dating. Oh, whatever." 

"He is my friend, Ashildr," Clara says quietly, avoiding Ashildr's poignant stare.

"No, he isn't," Ashildr snorts. "I'm your friend. He is... something else. But this is not the point-"

"The point is," Clara interrupts her once more, adjusting the sleeves of her jacket, "we'd met uncountable times before and nothing bad had really happened! The Universe, space and time, everything keeps just going on as it should be. And so are we."

Ashildr let herself fall onto the jump seat with a resigned sigh. 

"You'd taken separate paths in the past for a reason, Clara."

She faces Ashildr hard stare hoping that the other woman can see the truth in her eyes. 

"And I will never forget what took us apart in the first place, believe me. But things are different now, Ashildr. We both are different now."

Ashildr seems to take that into consideration for a long moment before she speaks again.

"I know you're older, Clara, you had seen too much, experienced too much in all these years you've been apart. But you still feel the same about him. And," she lifts a forefinger to prevent Clara from protesting and goes on, "somewhere deep inside his hearts, he still feels the same for you too."

"He can't exactly remember me, you know," Clara says in a quiet and pained tone that doesn't go unnoticed with the other woman while she walks resolutely to the doors. The colourful lights from the diner blink at Clara's back when she opens it, her own eyes fixed on the clean white floor of their ship. 

"Maybe not," Ashildr finally says, making Clara look back at her. "But, as much as your presence now could’ve confused him in the beginning, the Doctor is not that thick, Clara. He’d learnt to know you again. He knows who you are, and,” Ashildr's impressive eyes look straight into hers and for a moment, it’s easy to see how really old she is before she continues, “he must’ve done the math and has already figured out how he once felt about you. And I think this is possibly equally dangerous.”

#

Ashildr's words are still echoing in Clara's mind when she steps outside into the warm afternoon sun from a planet she has never been before. But her mind is too busy lost in thought for her to register the beautiful surroundings she walks in. 

Of course, she understands Ashildr's fears. Clara can't exactly say that she doesn't share them, after all, she had been the one to refuse the Doctor's first idea of stepping aboard his TARDIS to come here with him. It is her own uncertainty about what might really happen if they travel together again the main reason why she is here in her TARDIS.

Her feet take her to the top of a soft hill and her gaze lands on the green and golden field in front of her. And there it is. Clara can't prevent the smile that forms on her lips at the sight of the old blue box standing proudly just a few feet away. 

Stopping in front of the doors, she runs a reverent hand over the wood. If she still had a beating heart, it certainly would be beating wildly with the feeling of the knots and aged painting under her fingers. 

"Hello, Old Girl," she whispers. "It has been a long, long time, hasn't it?"

The twinge of pain that cut through her chest takes her by surprise. It makes old wounds sting fresh and reassures her that some things can never change. It doesn't matter how long she has spent travelling in her own TARDIS or how many changes she and Ashildr had made to make it feel cosier and more comfortable. This old police box will always be home for her and Clara knows why. How could it be different when he is the one behind those doors? It is a truth that she has made an effort too big to forget because it hurts too much. 

A too familiar voice coming from behind the closed doors takes her out of her reverie. It is a string of mostly unintelligible grumbles and angry protests in that Scottish brogue of his. It seems he is arguing with someone. The TARDIS, probably. Unless... She sighs. Well, unless he has company. 

And it shouldn't hurt like this, Clara knows. The Doctor, from all the people in this universe, doesn't deserve to be alone. He can't be. He is lost by himself. And she has never wanted him to be alone. He needs a friend, a caring hand to hold, someone with brave heart and an open and curious mind to whom he can show the marvels of the universe. Someone able to ground him, to give him some perspective and to protect him from himself when he loses his track. Someone to love him. And be loved by him.

Yet, the idea he may have replaced her not just in the TARDIS but also maybe in his hearts, makes her own constrict in pain. And the thought makes her feel so selfish and small and ashamed because she has always known and even wished for he could love again after she'd left. 

But the TARDIS' doors open all of a sudden and the Doctor is practically thrown outside with a growl, nearly knocking Clara down in the process. She yelps in surprise and, acting on a reflex, both of them hold onto each other arms in a conjunct effort to keep their balance and prevent a very imminent double fall. 

The Doctor is the first to regain his ground and immediately tightens his grip on her forearms to steady her too. At his back, the ship's doors close with a loud bang that prompts him to cast an angry look at it from over his shoulder.

“Oh, yeah! How very mature of you!” He snaps at the blue box, his accent thicker than ever before he turns around to look at Clara for the first time since he has stepped outside. And she prepares herself for the familiar pang in her heart at the sign of no recognition inside his eyes.

It is always like this. It always takes him some time to realise who she is. And even if she knows that he will do it, lately much quicker than in the beginning, that empty gaze never fails in breaking her heart a little more. 

"In trouble?" She asks him to give him the time he needs, her eyebrows lifting up just a bit.

The Doctor blinks and removes his hands awkwardly from her, his long fingers coming to adjust his rumpled coat as if he doesn't know what to do with them. He is wearing his red velvet jacket, her favourite one, and his grey curls are unkempt in the exact way that she adores. So very doctor-y. So very him.

"Trouble? No," he gives her a quick and practised smile, the one he shows to strangers in his effort for being nice. “Just an old and stubborn ship that seems to relish in disagreeing with me." 

"Ah," she bites back a smile. "So you were arguing with your ship then?" And how adorable does he looks, in that full almighty Time Lord mode, pretending that he is just fine and can't care any less about the fact that his ship has just locked him out. She can't take her eyes away from him. 

Oh, and how much does she miss him.

"Don't look at me like that, as if I'm a madman," he then points a bony thumb back at the TARDIS but keeps his eyes trained on her. "It's a sentient ship and I should've-" 

And then, he stops abruptly, as if his train of thought had been cut off by something else. His impressive eyebrows furrow just a tad and a glint crosses his eyes before he closes them for a long moment. 

And Clara holds her breath.

A spark of recognition softens his features and twitches up the corners of his lips with a bare hint of a smile. When he finally opens his eyes to meet hers, they shine like the suns and stars they once had travelled through together. It warms her from inside and places a soft smile on her lips.

"But this is something you already know, isn't it?" He says, his voice gentle and just a bit more hoarse than before as if he struggles with his own emotions.

"Hello, Doctor," she smiles at him brightly.

"Hello, Clara Oswald."

They stay there just grinning at each other like two idiots for a long moment before she finally speaks.

"Why did she lock you out this time?" 

"Ah," he bites his lower lip and avoids eye contact. It’s the first sign of a shenanigan, she recognises it instantly. “I might or might not have turned off the safeguards from the navigation circuits."

"The safeguards?" She furrows her brow, instantly knowing that there is something wrong. That can be potentially dangerous. The safeguards are there to prevent him from going to places he shouldn't for his own protection, like preventing him from crossing his own timeline or accidentally interfere in an event that could cause serious damages. 

Tidal waves. 

"Yeah," he still is avoiding her eyes and that makes her even more concerned. 

"What for?" She touches his arm to make him look at her. "Doctor, you know how dangerous it is!"

"I had to. Or the TARDIS wouldn't allow me to land here. And I," he breathes out slowly, eyes coming to scan her face gently. "I needed to be here."

Those incredible starry eyes of his look at her with intensity, so full of so many things that are enough to make her hold her breath and wish to loose herself into them. But there is something else nagging at the back of her mind while she tries not to blush under his gaze. The TARDIS didn't want him to come, so it can only mean one thing: the ship sensed trouble. Heavy trouble. 

But Clara doesn't have time to elaborate, the sound of a dozen of guns being cocked ready to fire at their backs making them both instantly tense.

Trouble.

"Who are you?" A strong and impatient male voice demands a response. Clara and the Doctor exchange a quick glance before they turn around slowly with their hands raised above their heads. In front of them there is a group of heavily armed soldiers, their guns firmly aimed at them. One man takes a step forward, a distinction in his uniform and helmet clearly indicating he is the one in command.

"Hello!" The Doctor's smile is so fake that makes Clara want to kick him. There is nothing friendly in the postures of the dozen of men that stare at them, and it is a miracle they don't shoot them just because of it. She'll need to talk to him about it later, maybe she should write a different set of cue cards for him. 

"I'm the Doctor," he continues, "and this... is my friend, Clara Oswald. We're here as Her Majesty's guests for her wedding celebrations," he announces in a pacifying tone, obviously expecting that this will be enough explanation for the soldiers to put their guns down and let them go. But they don't seem to be impressed by that, their cold eyes still fixed on them.

"The Doctor?" The one that seems to be their leader asks, a tone of surprise in his voice while his dark eyes analyse the Doctor from head to toe as if he can't quite believe in what he has just heard.

"Yes, yes! I'm an old friend of your Queen."

Clara feels her shoulders tense when the soldiers just exchange quick glances. There is something going on in here. She can feel the danger in their postures.

"Are you sure that you are the Doctor?" The leader insists in a colder tone and this time, the Doctor, probably aware of the strangeness in the other's man voice, takes a couple of seconds more to answer.

"Yes," he says, casting a warning glance at Clara, one that tells her he feels the danger too.

"You come with us," the leader gives a quick nod to a pair of soldiers who in an instant are next to them, firmly holding their hands on their backs to secure it inside of electronic manacles. The devices are activated with a low buzz and Clara feels the uncomfortable pressure of the cold metal against the sensitive skin of her wrists. 

"And just for your information, Doctor”, the commander adds with mock tone and a dangerous grin. "We don't have a Queen."

#

They have been walking for a long time now, for how long, Clara can't tell. But even her time looped body starts to feel the effects of the sun, dust and the rocky terrain. Her feet are surprisingly sore. Even if she isn't exactly sweaty, she feels hot and her shirt clings uncomfortably onto her torso under her jacket. Beside her, the Doctor keeps walking in complete silence. But she knows by the furrow of his eyebrows that he is using his concentration to fight the pain. And it hurts her to see him like this and not be able to do anything.

The soldier's gun had hit him straight in the ribs after he had tried once more to extract any piece of information that could bring some light into their situation. Another soldier had warned him, commanding him to shut up, but the Doctor had ignored him and tried to persuade them to keep chatting until one of them had lost his patience and had hit him. 

The Doctor has been silent since then. Glancing at him, she wonders whether he has something broken by the way he winces from time to time.

"You ok?" She mutters when his eyes catch her watching him. He nods and gives her a tight-lipped smile in a poor attempt to soothe her concerns. But she knows him better.

"Wrong coordinates?" She asks him simply and the Doctor nods once more. It's no surprise then that the TARDIS hadn't wanted him to come here. "Plan?"

He looks at her for a moment and she knows by the look in his eyes that he has none yet. 

"You two shut up," the same soldier who had hit the Doctor before growls at their backs. In a reflex, she quickly places her body between him and the Doctor, certainly sparing him of another blow. The soldier's eyes widen slightly in surprise, but whatever effect her actions had been on him, it vanishes too far. He closes the distance between them to press his gun firmly against her chest and she feels the Doctor stifling at her back. "You're just an idiot for trying to protect a criminal, Miss." The soldier's face is too close to hers, enough for her to feel his breath on her skin. His eyes fire with anger and disgust. 

"Leave her alone, Flynn," the other soldier, the one who seems responsible for watching her, pushes Flynn's gun down and pulls her by the arm, placing some distance between them both and consequently, from the Doctor. "Sorry for Flynn, Miss," he tells her in a hushed tone, while he pulls her away. "He lost most of his family in the war."

Clara keeps an eye on the Doctor, much more concerned about his safety now that they are apart. But she sees in this soldier's sympathy an opportunity to try to find out what is really going on in here.

"And is this the reason he doesn't like the Doctor?"

The young soldier eyes her warily, tightening the grip on his gun. A long moment passes before he speaks again, his voice still hushed.

"No one likes the Doctor around here, Miss," he looks her straight in the eyes. "He is a war criminal, the destroyer of the worlds. Many people died because of him."

Clara stares at him for a moment, because even if this explains why they were made prisoners as soon as they learnt who he was, it doesn't make any sense. The Doctor is not a war criminal, he is a war hero. He doesn't kill people, he saves them. From the corner of her eye, Clara sees when Flynn presses once again his gun with force against the Doctor's back to make him walk faster. She bits her lip. She can only hope that none of them decides to do something stupid or things can go really bad.

"Where are you taking us?" She turns her attention back to the young soldier, who glances at her with something between annoyance and concern in his dark eyes. 

"I shouldn't be talking with you, Miss."

Even if she understands his reasons, she won't quit that easily. He shouldn't, but he certainly is. So, she pushes her luck. 

"What's your name?"

He doesn't look at her and just keeps walking, his grip firm on her arm keeping her close to him. There is conflict in the expression on his face, as if he is struggling in telling her the truth. He is young, she can tell, probably much younger than the other soldiers that surround them, though his face has already too many battle scars. But none is probably worse than the scars he seems to carry in his soul, a hardness and a tiredness in his eyes telling her that life has not been kind to him.

"Kai," he finally says, so low that Clara almost misses it. And then, after a moment more, he continues. "Look, Miss, you'll put us both in trouble if you don't stop asking questions," his eyes search hers. "Many in here don't care that your tied hands prevent you from defending yourself. They won't hesitate in shut you, one way or another. And I can't protect you from them, especially not from my superiors. So, please, for the sake of us both, just keep walking in silence," he lowers his gaze as if he is ashamed of his own words and Clara can't stop wondering what else this young man fears.

After an hour or so they get into what seems to her an improvised campsite hidden in the entrance of a ravine. There are more soldiers in there, a hundred, maybe more she thinks. Many heads turn around to watch them while she and the Doctor are escorted to one corner of the camp and she can't avoid the feeling of discomfort under so many angry looks.

"You two stay here," Flynn orders them to sit on the ground and doesn't hesitate to push the Doctor with more force than necessary to make him obey, making him lose his balance and fall heavily on the ground. Without hesitation, Clara escapes from her guard to slide and kneel next to the Doctor, ignoring the mocking laughter of the men watching the scene.

"Doctor?"

The Doctor gets on his knees with some difficulty, a low moan escaping his lips when he finally lifts his head to look at her. She recognises the well-concealed fury that darkens the blue of his eyes, but he quickly recomposes himself, a hint of a smile crossing his lips when their eyes met. 

"I'm fine," he nods slowly, a thin trickle of blood running down his right cheek. From the corner of her eyes, she sees Flynn walking away, leaving Kai and other two other men guarding them. All of them have a firm grip on the trigger of their guns, a sign that they won't a thing.

Clara sits next to the Doctor, her shoulder brushing his arm, their closeness the only comfort in all this mess they are. Around them, the campsite seems to slowly calm down after their arrival and most of the men get back to their own business even if now and then prying eyes look at them.

The Doctor is in complete silence, his head slightly bowed, his eyes shut. He is in pain, she knows, though he would never admit it, would never let her know the extent of his wounds. Her beloved idiot is even now trying to protect her at the cost of his own weaknesses. She can't feel more frustrated for not being able of easing his pain. She must come up with a plan and quick.

Probably feeling her gaze upon him, The Doctor slowly opens his eyes. She knows he can see the concern in her eyes, so it's no surprise when soft blue eyes look at her with a hint of a reassuring smile.

"You ok?" He is the one who makes the question this time, his eyes scanning her face gently. It makes her heart tight in her chest and, for a moment, she lets herself to be carried away by his starry eyes. Then, she nods, shifting in her place a little to have a better look at him. 

"You?"

"Had never seen better days," the corners of his lips twitch up in a shadow of a smirk that always makes her want to hold him tight. She lifts one eyebrow at him and he adds, in a soothing tone that doesn't fool her. "Don't worry, I'm ok."

She looks over her shoulder to where Kai and the other soldiers stand. Their eyes are still trained on them while they chat quietly.

"Did you find out something?" The Doctor asks her in a whisper, following her gaze to watch their guards as well.

"Not much," she looks back at him. "Just that you're not very admired here."

"Yeah, I'd already realised that," he shifts a little as if to better accommodate himself against the rock. 

"Something to do with the Time War?" She asks him carefully.

"Maybe," he shifts uncomfortably again and his face contorts in a grimace. "Probably. Can't be sure, though. They didn't give me much."

She bites her lower lip, her gaze once more focused on their guards. Kai sustains her gaze, and for a moment, Clara almost feels safe. There is something about this boy that she can't quite put her finger on, but that makes her think she can trust him. 

"I know that you don't sleep, Doctor, but maybe it's time for one of your cat naps," her gaze falls once more upon the Doctor, warm and gentle. "I will keep a watch on them and try to find something."

He scoffs. "It's not a good time for naps."

"You're worn out. Don't even try to deny," she adds quickly when he opens his mouth to protest. "I know you, Doctor. Come on, rest. I think we are not going anywhere anytime soon." 

#

The deafening sound of an explosion cuts the silence of the night and she opens her eyes to find herself in the middle of hell. More explosions follow the first ones and Clara tries to protect herself while she watches in horror men being thrown into the air. A heavy cloud of debris surrounds her. The sounds of shotguns and men shouting desperate orders mix with the groans of pain and confusion. 

Clara ducks behind a rock and squints her eyes in an effort to locate the Doctor in the middle of the chaos. She must have dozed off and now there is no sign of him. She scans her surroundings in fear. 

A glimpse of the blur of his red velvet coat among the clouds of dust and people desperatedly running makes her leave her hiding place. But Clara has barely given two steps ahead when she is forced down into the ground for a pair of hands. In the next second everything around her explodes into the air. 

Close to her, she sees the worried face of Kai.

"Are you ok?" he yells over the sounds of the battle, his face dirty with dust and blood.

"Yes," she nods, trying to wipe her face clean with her shoulder and pushing herself in a seated position without exposing herself too much from their hiding place. 

"Turn around!" Kai orders her.

She looks at him suspiciously but does as he tells her and is surprised when he unlocks the manacles. Instinctively she massages the sore skin where the metal was pressed to, looking at him without hiding her confusion.

"You'll have a better chance without these," Kai secures the manacles to his belt and looks around them, his trained eyes checking their situation before he turns his head towards her again. "Now, listen to me! You need to go south!" He points his gun to his right. "Keep running until you reach the borders of the forest. Then go east, never stop, just keep going. You should find a fortress by the end of the day. You'll be safe there."

"I won't leave without the Doctor!"

He looks at her as if she is mad. 

"There is no way to find your friend in the middle of the battle! Besides, you're safer without him. He is a wanted war criminal on this planet and you, Miss, nobody has a thing against you."

"He is my friend, I can't just abandon him!"

She feels his frustration even with all the turmoil that surrounds them.

"Look," he watches her with tired eyes, "I can't keep you safe in the middle of this! And your friend," he lifts his head to have a good look over the rock they're hiding behind. "He can be dead for all that I know. The first bombs fell exactly over the place where they were standing."

She clenches her fists, her entire body tense. Her eyes flash with sheer determination when she looks at him.

"I won't leave him behind!"

Kai bows his head in an attempt to conceal his feelings from her, but she knows he is angry. She can feel his inner battle and see it in his eyes when he finally looks up at her.

"Ok. If you want to do this, follow me." 

"No! You don't need to put yourself at risk helping me," she grabs him by his shoulder, stopping him from moving.

"I'm only doing my job," he tells her dryly. "Now, we should be going. Your friend was at the General's tent when the attack started." He looked around as if trying to figure out where the tent had been. With a motion of his head, they start to move in the middle of the battlefield.

# 

They find The Doctor in the middle of the action and Clara is horrified to see him crossing the battlefield unprotected as if he has no care about his own safety. 

“Are you mad?” She practically jumps over him to protect him from the explosions and they both land on the ground in a very ungraceful way. He holds her by her shoulders, eyes open widely, his face contorted in a grimace that suddenly softens as soon as their eyes meet.

“Clara!” He pulls her into a tight embrace that certainly would’ve knocked the air out of her lungs if she still needed to breathe. “I thought you-”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, his words are muffled by the sound of more explosions close to them, forcing them both to once more look for shelter. But no words are really needed. Clara knows all too well the terror and sorrow in his voice. It's the same it was in her heart until a couple of minutes ago. 

Ignoring the battle around them, she lifts her head enough to look him in the eye as her hand comes to rest gently on his cheek. It's an all too familiar gesture, once so common between them. She has missed it, but now it is lost in a past they can't bring back. But his eyes light up as if he can remember it and her heart aches, still longing for the impossible. 

"I won't leave you," she says, her lips close to his ear so she is sure he hears her. She can only hope he would understand everything she is trying to tell to him.  I won't leave you again. Never mind the universe. Never mind space and time. I won't leave you never again. 

They are still in danger, but for a moment, it's almost as only the two of them exist. He holds her gaze still and she thinks she can recognise the expression in the deep of his eyes. His next words leave his lips in a whisper, his head close to hers, arms still holding her in place. 

"Is it a promise?" 

Clara isn't able to answer him because they can hear a commotion over the sounds of the battle. It comes from their left and they both instantly raise their heads searching for the origin of it. She sees Kai already moving fast while he does his best to avoid being hit. Without any other word, they follow him. This is a conversation for another time, even if she knows that maybe, like so many other times before, they won't get there. 

They find a group of children trapped between the battlefield and the edge of a cliff. There must be at least ten of them and it's clear to her they won't have a chance if they can't come up with a plan. And fast.

"We need to get to them," she yells at the other two man to be heard. Kai shakes his head. 

"There is no time!" Kai casts a glance over his shoulder. "They're coming! The next wave will hit straight into us! And we won't have a chance against the blasts!"

"We can't just leave them to die!" Clara shouts back at him and feels the Doctor's hand squeeze hers. 

"I'll go," the Doctor tells them while he scans their surroundings to find a gun lying on the ground. "You help him to watch my back and clear the path." 

He points the sonic to the heavy gun before he places it in her hands, their fingers brushing slightly. "I set it to stun," he says and his eyes come to look intently at hers for a moment longer. There is no need for words right now, she understands what he is silently telling her.  He won't leave her. Never again. 

And then, before Kai or Clara can stop him, he goes. They all know it is an almost suicidal mission, there is a high chance that one of them won't get out of this. The three of them had seen the devastation the enemy's guns leave in its awakening. And it's clear by the sounds coming from all over the place that they will be surrounded in a short moment.

Clara crosses the road and positions herself behind the shell of a semi-destroyed transport while the Doctor runs towards to the kids. This leaves Kai with no other option than stand his position and aim his gun to their backs, waiting for the next horde of enemies come out of the woods. In the few seconds he has before the attack, he can't avoid thinking if this strange man is really the Doctor. Because the man he knows from the stories the elder tell would never risk his life to save others.

A strange blast comes from over their heads and hits the first group of soldiers that have just shown up from behind the tree and some of the guns fly in the air. From over his shoulder, Kai casts a glimpse of the Doctor pointing an odd blue and green object at the enemy. It looks like an odd kind of wand. But whatever it is, it has made some of the soldiers' guns explode even. Kai and Clara start shooting too and, when the Doctor and the children finally reach her, Kai thinks that they still have a minute or two before more will come. 

He leaves his hiding place to join Clara and the Doctor on the other side of the road, keeping his eyes the entire time on their surroundings to be sure the path is clear. The children are evidently terrified and, as much as Kai wants to know how they've ended up here, there is no time for that now. They need to be quick and move before more enemies can reach them. But there is only one way out of this, and it is crossing the battlefield.

"The fortress," Kai says to the other two, "we need to get them there. It is the only place they can be safe."

The Doctor and Clara exchange a concerned look, clearly understanding that this means they'll have to put those kids in a lot of danger before they can be safe. 

"I'll go first, catch their attention and open a free path for you to reach the woods," the Doctor says after a moment, his eyes studying their surroundings seeking for any other way out. 

They can hear more voices and sounds of shotguns approaching from their right. 

"Doctor," Clara holds him by the arm but he covers her hand with his. 

"We can do it," he looks into her eyes and, after a moment she nods. Everything will end just fine. They both have a promise to fulfil to each other, after all. 

#

It doesn't happen in the exactly the way they were expecting, of course. But the thing is that the Doctor's diversion works and the first horde that emerges out of the woods go straight after him, completely ignoring Clara, Kai and the children. 

And it is all they need because Clara and Kai have time, even if short, to move the children to a safer place into the woods. From there, they can plan their next step. 

It won't be easy, it's a long way to go through until they can be really safe, Kai is sure about it while his eyes study and restudy the map in the visor of the gadget attached to his wrist. Clara is watching their surroundings and tries her best to calm down the kids. But it's a hard job with all the explosions that come from near them, from the exact place where they all had seen the Doctor disappearing into just moments ago. 

She silently prays for it not to be the time she loses him, he needs to come back to her, alive and unharmed. 

Kai lifts his head to be sure the path is clear before he makes a sign for them to follow him. Clara stays at the back and follows them just a couple of seconds later, giving a last glance over her shoulder in hopes of seeing the Doctor coming out of the smoke to join them. But there is still no sign of him. Only heavy smoke. And more explosions.

The kids are brave, there is no doubt about it. It is a tough path even for the adults, but they are taking it well, even the younger ones. Some of them look like any regular seven or eight year old from Earth, though Clara has this feeling that they are biologically older. Some of them might be even older than her. 

More shouts come from behind them. There are enemies following their track and Clara starts to fear for the worst. They won't do it. Then, she suddenly knows what to do. She needs to gain them more time. 

Noticing that she has stopped, Kai looks at her. 

"What are you doing?" He hisses.

"Just keep going."

It's the only logical thing to do. She may not be a good soldier like Kai, but he is the one who knows the terrain and the path to the fortress. So she is the one who must stay back and cause another diversion. 

"Clara-"

"Go, Kai! Just go!"

The shouts and shotguns sound closer now and she watches with relief the children and Kai disappearing through the bushes. She places her finger firmly at the trigger, jaw clenched, eyes focused at the place from where the sounds are coming. If there is a chance for saving those kids, Clara will make her best to stop these men from getting to them.

There is a shaking of leaves and a man runs out of the trees, the red of his coat not leaving any doubts of who he is. There are two soldiers in his pursuit and Clara tries to aim her gun at them, but from where she stands there is a good chance she will shot the Doctor first. So, she moves in hopes of better spot to shoot.

They are getting closer and she knows the Doctor has already seen her, so she expects him to duck as soon as he reaches a closer position to give her a chance for a clear shot. 

Two more soldiers appear at his back and they carry a heavy gun with them. It is a large a cannon and the image is enough to make the hair on her nape to cringe. They aim it at the Doctor and she instantly knows he has no chance. 

Everything happens just too fast. She doesn't hesitate. Her acts are pure instinct. As soon as the deadly blue light leaves the cannon barrel, she does what she has always done. She throws herself at him, shielding him with her body. The blast hits her with all its force and makes them both fly in the air to fall heavily on the rocky grounds. 

She feels like her body is on fire and everything is only pain before it finally goes black. 

#

The first thing he is aware of is this weight pressing his chest. It makes hard to breathe. The second thing is this strange yet familiar metallic taste in his mouth. It's like blood. Maybe it is blood. It takes him yet a couple of seconds more to understand what has happened and it makes him instantly open his eyes, the realisation that it is Clara's inert body that lays over his makes him recover instantly. 

But there is something very wrong. There is all this blood, so much blood. Clara's. And it is the most terrifying thing he has ever seen. She is bleeding profusely and she breathes in short and shallow gasps. As gently as possible, he moves her to free himself, a weak moan escapes her lips. 

Ignoring the sharp pain that cuts through him when he kneels beside her, he takes her cold hands in his trembling ones. Her eyes flutter open for a short moment and a meek smile twitches her lips up when she sees him before they close again. He holds her close, his hearts shattering when he finally understands, his long fingers moving to her wrist. 

It should be impossible and it shouldn't be there, but he feels her weak pulse. She is alive. Something must've started her heart again. The canon blast probably. An impossibly heavy wave of powerful energy absorbed by her body. And right now, Clara Oswald is dying in his arms. He is about to lose her. Once again. 

He clenches his jaw and feels the heavy trembling of the muscles of his body. 

He won't allow it. Not again. 

Finding back his strength and ignoring his own wounds, he lifts her in his arms to find his way back to the TARDIS. If there is a way to save her, he will find it. 

The sounds of the battle are moving away which means there is a chance he might have a clear path to his ship, but it also means that he might have been lying there unconscious for too long while Clara was dying. And right now, ironically, he sees himself running out of time. 

His arms hurt, his legs are about to give in, but he keeps running. Like he has done his entire life. His lungs burn and his vision is blurry, but there is nothing in this world that will stop him. He can't tell exactly how long he carries her, but it is with a wash of relief that he finally spots the blue box. Kicking the doors open, he walks into the console room to see the TARDIS lights blinking in a rapid sequence. Crossing the room, he finds the med bay as the first room in the hallway and silently thanks the old girl. 

Carefully, he places Clara's broken body over a bed and tries his best to stop the bleeding. But all the monitors keep telling him that it is already too late, she has lost an awful amount of blood. There is nothing much he can do. Unless...

A mad thought takes form in his mind and he knows that it is the only one way. It’s risky, presumably very dangerous for both of them. But he won't loose Clara again.

He ignores the TARDIS angry protests and does the one thing he thinks might save her. Placing both of his hands over her chest, he closes his eyes and gives her a huge charge of regeneration energy while he prays for all the known deities in this universe and the next for this to save her. The exertion drains the last of his energy and he barely has time to lay down in the bed next to her before he faints.

#

Clara opens her eyes slowly feeling her body heavy and numb. Her head is sore and she feels dizzy. She makes an effort to focus her eyes but there is nothing in this place she is she can recognise. Moving her arm, still disoriented, she feels something next to her. Someone. She is not alone. 

The Doctor lays beside her, body at an odd angle like he has fallen there. But it’s not his worrying pale face or his shallow breaths that shock her the most, it's the wisps of the amber golden light that leaves the tips of his fingers that scare the hell out of her. Is he regenerating?

Clara can't remember exactly what had happened but the amount of blood covering their clothes just scares her even more. Suddenly, the images start to form clear in her mind, making her remember the very disturbing sequence of events that had brought them here.

The cannon blast. His terrified scream. An excruciating pain tearing her body apart. An explosion launching them both in the air like a pair of rag dolls until they fall heavily over the rocks. Pain. So much pain and blood. And darkness. Waking up in his arms. So much pain and fear in his eyes. Despair almost, while he carries her back to the TARDIS. The deafening beats of her heart while her blood spills from the wounds. 

Clara swallows hard. She should be dead. But how… She looks at him and suddenly it is hard to breathe. He hadn’t, had he?

The Doctor stirs next to her and slowly opens his eyes.

“Hey,” Clara tries to smile, fighting back the tears that threaten to roll down at any moment. 

"Hey," his voice is weak but the spark that lights up the blue of his eyes is genuine and it makes her heart flutter and hurt at the same time. 

"What have you done?" Her voice comes out in a choked whisper, too many emotions taking her by assault when she takes his hand in hers. His eyes follow hers to stare at the wisps of golden light that come out from the tips of his fingers.

"You're alive," he says after a moment, entwining their fingers slowly. "You are alive."

"But you..." She can't finish the sentence, the words stuck behind the lump forming in her throat. 

"I'm fine," a soft smile curls his lips up. "I just need to rest."

She can’t understand. 

"But your fingers? Isn't it-"

"Regeneration energy, yes," he tightens his grip on her hand. "You needed it. It was the only way."

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath trying to compose herself. 

"Why did you do it? You don't even know how much you have! You-"

He shakes his head, sadness and tiredness in those eyes that keep intently locked on hers despite everything.

"It was the only way to save you, Clara."

"Doctor, you-"

"Rest," he breathes out, interrupting her. "Rest now. Talk later," his eyes are closing again when he whispers, pulling her close. "Please."

She rests her head on his chest and feels his arms closing around her. But it is the soft kiss he plants on the top of her head that finally breaks free the tears she has been holding back. They fall free and abundant, mingling with the blood and dirt on her cheeks to dump his ragged shirt.

It only takes him a moment to drift off into sleep and she feels his body relaxing against her. The steady double beat of his hearts under her ear slowly calm her down, until it lulls her into sleep too.

#

None of them knows how long they’ve stayed there, but when they open their eyes much later, both of them are still pretty much tired to think about anything else than getting a shower, put on clean clothes and dive into a soft bed. The conversation will have to wait, at least for now. 

Clara is toweling her hair when he comes to meet her in her old bedroom, a bashful look on his face when he leans against the doorframe. From the corner of her eyes, she sees his hands searching for the safety of the pockets of those ridiculous plaid trousers she has learned to love. 

"Feeling better?" He asks her quietly. 

"A bit. You?"

He nods slowly, eyes carefully watching her while she sits on the bed and arranges the pillows. 

"A bit," he says, giving a couple of careful steps inside. 

There is something too familiar in the way he lays his eyes on her, a look she has seen too many times in the past to go unnoticed now. It speaks to her about things she has longed for so long and yet, she doesn't dare to hope. 

But her heart has other ideas and beats faster, all the same, making her momentarily dizzy. If she still remembers the sensation that seems to place a thousand of butterflies inside her stomach and catches her breath in her throat, her body is still trying to catch up with having a beating heart pumping blood through her veins once again. But what she can't ignore is how happy her heart still beats for him. Always for him. 

She needs to look away to put things into perspective once more before it is too much. Everything that has happened to them in the last hours has obviously taken its toll on both of them, but it's still the way he looks at her that disarms her the most. 

His voice, quiet and hoarse, forces her eyes back to him. 

"You scared the hell out of me," he says, and the hint of concealed emotion doesn't go unnoticed on her. 

Clara swallows hard, feeling the prick of tears in the corners of her eyes. 

"Something that it seems we both are still very good at," she adds quietly, pulling the covers to make room for him. "Come," she pats the empty space beside her in the bed and when he hesitates, she adds. "We both still need to rest."

"Clara, I-"

"Stay, please," she murmurs, eyes locked on his, half expecting him to come up with an excuse and leave her alone. He lowers his eyes for a moment and then just nods. 

"Ok," he murmurs, walking to sit on the bed next to her. "Ok."


End file.
